


float away

by endoplasmian



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Emotional Constipation, Gen, Graceful Ghost Rag - William Bolcom, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Music Symbolism, Paradise Valley - Honey and the Sting, Post-Finale, canon deaths are mentioned but not depicted, pianist jacobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endoplasmian/pseuds/endoplasmian
Summary: USS URANIA — DAY 1243Jacobi plays the piano. Lovelace remembers how to cry.





	float away

_USS URANIA — DAY 1243 — 0200 HOURS_

Music.  
Lovelace’s heartbeat quickened. There wasn’t supposed to be music on the station anymore. That was supposed to be a problem that died with the Hephaestus in the heart of Wolf 359. The Dear Listeners got what they wanted, didn’t they? Was everything that happened still not enough?  
Then, she saw it.  
It was a room she’d never noticed before- the hatch blended in so well with the rest of the panelling that no one would notice unless they were looking for it. The door was just the tiniest bit ajar, a sliver of fluorescent light pouring out. From inside, flowed the music. Lovelace bit her tongue and closed the distance, peering through the crack while making sure not to disturb the hatch.  
What she was was more alien than the Dear Listeners ever could have been.

A figure floated in front of a long, black platform, its slick surface glinting in the light. The figure’s fingers flitted across the keyboard. Though its left hand jumped between octaves, it did it gracefully and accurately, as though it took no effort at all. It’s right hand looked like it was dancing. It moved with the precision of machinery.  
It was Jacobi.  
His side was to her, and she watched his expression against the window. He was completely focused, transfixed. She’d never seen him like that. Those hands, the same ones that built bombs and took lives, now plucked gently at the keys of a piano, giving life to something. Giving life to _music,_ of all things.

“I didn’t know you played.”  
Jacobi froze, a deer in headlights. His calm disposition disappeared, stiff shoulders and wide eyes filling its place.  
“Well,” he paused. “I do.”  
“Oh, relax, I’m not going to make fun of you. It was nice.”  
He hesitated, but softened a bit. “Thanks.”  
Lovelace made her way over to float beside him. She scanned the scattered books on the ledge of the piano, clipped down so they wouldn’t float away. They had all kinds of different names- Satie, Brubeck, Dvorak, Ravel- none of which meant much of anything to her. She only really noticed one thing- none of them were open.

“Was that from memory?”  
“Yep. Not a super hard piece to memorize. It’s pretty repetitive, sounds harder than it is.”  
“Still, that’s pretty impressive. What’s it called?”  
“Graceful Ghost Rag, William Bolcom. One of the first rags I learned to play.”  
“...Oh.” Lovelace paused, something clicking into place in her mind.  
“What.”  
“What do you mean, what?” She attempted to feign innocence by smiling, but Jacobi could see right her. He chuckled.  
“You know what I mean. Out with it.”  
“No, I just… I don’t know. It’s a nice piece.”  
Her thoughts swarmed with memories, of Kuan, of Sam, of Mason, of Victoire. She remembered the few minutes in her escape pod before she put herself into cryo, and how excruciatingly painfully she mourned them. Jacobi hadn’t chosen that piece randomly. It was his apology, to Alana and Warren. The only way he could get through to them. Sitting all alone in a tiny, closed off node, aside from Hera and God and whoever else was normally listening. He’d never admit it, but he was sobbing through the keys, desperately asking for forgiveness, for the ability to live with himself again. Lovelace wanted to tell him that it was okay, that she understood, that he wasn’t alone, that he would be okay, that it _wasn’t his fault,_ but she knew he’d push her away if she did. She settled for a hand on his shoulder.  
“The stars ought to be happy to listen to you play.”  
She wasn’t entirely sure what she meant, but he seemed to understand, because something in his face changed. Lovelace expected him to scoff at how cheesy she sounded, tell her she didn’t need to try to make him feel better, but yet again, she found something alien- sadness, no longer masked by anger or fear. Just resigned melancholy and exhaustion.  
He managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Captain.”

The melancholic tune echoed in her mind for the rest of the day.

* * *

_USS URANIA — DAY 1243 — 2300 HOURS_

She dug through the cardboard box in her- well, Kepler’s old quarters, and extracted a small cassette player. It was worn, the paint of the lettering scratched off in most places. A tape was already inside, protected it its little plastic time capsule from the years of turbulence. It was the only part of the Hephaestus, her Hephaestus, that remained.  
The ship was moving faster than the speed of light, so free floating wasn’t exactly an option. The observation deck would have to do.

She heard the familiar crackle of the old cassette player, and soon, the warm warbling guitar and shushing snare faded in. She let the sound surround her, envelope her. She closed her eyes, and she was back a thousand and five hundred days ago, with Kuan waiting for her just outside the airlock, with Fisher in the engine room fixing whatever had malfunctioned that day, with Victoire reading H.P. Lovecraft and hating every second of it, with Lambert flipping the switches in the Comms room on and off meticulously, with Rhea hovering over everyone and fussing when they forgot to take care of themselves, even with Selberg, doing… whatever he did. It all felt so real. It all felt like home.  
She opened her eyes again, and she was completely alone. Surrounded by space and nothing. She hugged her knees to her chest, and willed the tears to come.

* * *

_USS URANIA — DAY 1244 — 0000 HOURS_

> _and the spring will come with the floods,_   
_ the warmth and the early buds_   
_ in the past i lay out on the land,_   
_ stretch my legs let my chest expand_   
_ if we could flow together someday,_   
_ then i’ll float away._

**Author's Note:**

> I like writing about classical music ok. also paradise valley makes me cry so theres that


End file.
